Dry Peaches

by Megan Auffart

"Orchards are simple,' a peach tree says. Some of me will be juicy and some of me will be dry. I'm not growing for you, I'm growing because that's what I do.' You always hear people complaining about how dry their peach is, and the peach says, It's not my fault you don't know the proper usage of dry peaches.'"

-Tori Amos in an Interview

She stands and she swears with a cigarette butt poking uselessly out of her teeth
The orchard is growing like nobody's business and blooming with careless relief
And she walks through the trees and swats at the bees and blossoms wave in the breeze
She puffs at their summons and stomps the persimmons that burst with remarkable ease
Protecting her hair from the ravaging wind as her thoughts migrate inside her mind
from the various gales of thoughts; splintered wires that scream with their rages maligned
i hate this place let me leave let me go far away what am i stuck a sad prisoner here
let me fly let me flee let me die someplace else let me explore every final frontier
As her mind weather twists with a manic caress and a tempest of thoughts slams her down
Her fickle shoe strikes a fresh fallen peach lying perfect on top of the ground
She shrugs and she reaches (she's always liked peaches) and bites with a fruit-lover's lust
Her nose crinkles up and her eyes seethe and glare as she spits out the peach with disgust
The fruit, though its skin is perfect and soft, has flesh that is dry as a bone
She grabs the remains and throws it away and trudges reluctantly home
The wind whispers sounds as soft as the spray of the waves that pound foreign beaches
as if to say, "It's your own fault you never learned the best use for dry peaches"